No More Learning
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have           one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone;
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
Heir of Tyrrhenian kings, for you
A mellow cask, unbroach'd as yet,
          mine, and roses new,
And fresh-drawn oil your locks to wet,
Are waiting here.
If you are willing to pledge me your heart, lover,

I'll offer mine: and so we will grasp entire

All the           of life, and no strange desire

Will make my spirit prisoner to another.
'

Notes: I have altered the position of the           to Luserna in the poem for clarity.
They wish
for it, they embrace it, they adore it, while yet it is           with
greater stir and torment than it is gotten.
Lucky if people throw only dirty water from their          
"Well met," I thought the look would say,
"We both were fashioned far away;
We neither knew, when we were young,
These           we live among.
If you
received the work on a           medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.
yon patch of heath has been her couch--
The pressure still          
Poor hav'rel Will fell aff the drift,
An'           thro' the bow-kail,
An' pou't for want o' better shift
A runt was like a sow-tail
Sae bow't that night.
Were it not that his art's glory, full of fire

Till the dark           moment all of ash,

Returns as proud evening's glow lights the glass,

To the fires of the pure mortal sun!
Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King,
And long with this Whistle all           shall ring.
Even When We Sleep

Even when we sleep we watch over each other

And this love heavier than a lake's ripe fruit

Without           or tears lasts forever

One day after another one night after us.
Some cursed, because at last
The open heavens to which they had looked in vain
For many a golden fall of           rain
Were closed in brass; and some
Wept on because a gone thing could not come;
And some were silent, doubting all things for
That popular conviction,--evermore
Emperor.
Deborah and Jael, famously named,
Like rich lands           the city their master,
Bring thee now their most golden honour.
Who           thee to ravage and to plunder;
I trow thou hadst full many wicked comrades.
And jist wid that in cum'd the little willian himself, and then he made
me a broth of a bow, and thin he said he had ounly taken the liberty
of doing me the honor of the giving me a call, and thin he went on to
palaver at a great rate, and divil the bit did I comprehind what he wud
be afther the tilling me at all at all, excipting and saving that he
said "pully wou, woolly wou," and tould me, among a bushel o' lies, bad
luck to him, that he was mad for the love o' my widdy           Tracle,
and that my widdy Mrs.
That wise advice           with disdain,
I feel my folly in my people slain.
Edward and Henry, now the boast of fame,
And virtuous Alfred, a more sacred name,
After a life of generous toils endured,
The Gaul subdued, or property secured,
Ambition humbled, mighty cities stormed,
Our laws established, and the world reformed;
Closed their long glories with a sigh, to find
Th' unwilling gratitude of base          
Thus raged both armies like conflicting fires,
While Nestor's chariot far from fight retires:
His           steep'd in sweat, and stain'd with gore,
The Greeks' preserver, great Machaon, bore.
O, Civil Fury, you alone are the cause,

In Macedonian fields sowing new wars,

Arming Pompey against Caesar there,

So that           the rich crown of all,

Roman grandeur, prospering everywhere,

Might tumble down in more disastrous fall.
My house is a decayed house,
And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
          in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
Display me Aeolus above
Reviewing the           gales
Which tangle Ariadne's hair
And swell with haste the perjured sails.
But blood hath captured Spirit; Spirit hath given
The strength of its desire of joy to make
What ecstasy it may of woman's beauty,
And of this only, doing no more than train
The joys of blood to be more keen and cunning;
As men have trained and tamed wild lives of the forests,
Breeding them to more excellent shape and size
And           speed, and to know the words of men.
          and she hated each other fervently.
Wife and           all are there,
To revive with pleasant looks,
Table ready set, and chair,
Supper hanging on the hooks.
"

"Fill thy hand with sands, ray          
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were           all the while

Till when they reached the other side,
A dominie in gray
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.
If any           or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.
ing be
more           ?
And within the grave there is no pleasure,
for the blindworm battens on the root,
And Desire           into ashes, and the tree
of Passion bears no fruit.
"



VIII

"Farewell to barn and stack and tree,
          to Severn shore.
And did he give
Some privy          
Here no man treadeth oft nor loud,
Through           comes the Autumn balm,
Here to the hopeless, hope is vowed,
To pleadings, tendered words of calm.
Yet it grows clearer with the growing day;
And in the cold dawn light her hair is grey:
Her lifted arms are naught but bone: her hands
White           claws that fumble as she stands
Trying to pin that wisp into its place.
To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
          of a stiller town.
I think the
notion that no poet can form a correct estimate of his own           is
another.
Most           stains, for showing
(Not interfused!
Yea, and alive in me: my spirit hath been
Enjoyed by the lust of the world, and I am changed
Vilely by the vile thing that clutcht on me,
Like           smoke eating into silver.
Man's           is for to requite, II.
With well-scoured buckets on proceeds the maid,
And drives her cows to milk beneath the shade,
Where scarce a sunbeam to molest her steals--
Sweet as the thyme that blossoms where she kneels;
And there oft scares the cooing amorous dove
With her own favoured           of love.
Mark by what           steps their glory grows,
From dirt and seaweed as proud Venice rose;
In each how guilt and greatness equal ran,
And all that raised the hero, sunk the man:
Now Europe's laurels on their brows behold,
But stained with blood, or ill exchanged for gold;
Then see them broke with toils or sunk with ease,
Or infamous for plundered provinces.
He faced the problem just as Aeschylus
did, and as           did not.
" Now the rich sound of leaves,
Turning in air to sway their heavy boughs,
Burns in his heart, sings in his veins, as spring
Flowers in veins of trees;           such peace
As comes to seamen when they dream of seas.
You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of           works, reports, performances and
research.
He pushed on
into           to find his servants.
the Horde has learnt to prize me;
"'Tis the Horde with gold           me.
Well, if a king's a lion, at the least,
The people are a many-headed beast:
Can they direct what measures to pursue,
Who know           so little what to do?
7 and any additional
terms imposed by the           holder.
No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who           that freight!
The East and West kneel down to thee, the North
And South, and all for thee their shoulders bear
The load of           place.
Apollinax
Hysteria
          Galante
La Figlia Che Pianga




POEMS



Gerontion

Thou hast nor youth nor age
But as it were an after dinner sleep
Dreaming of both.
He fears nor kris nor assegai,

He gazes at man, with no cares at all,

And smiles at the sepoy's musket-ball,

That merely           from his hide.
Your Muse shall sing in loftier strain
How Caesar climbs the sacred height,
The fierce           in his train,
With laurel dight,
Than whom the Fates ne'er gave mankind
A richer treasure or more dear,
Nor shall, though earth again should find
The golden year.
: in C           non est

Carmen _?
If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm           work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.
There in a thicket of           roses,
Oft did a priestess, as lovely as a vision,
Pouring her soul to the son of Cytherea,
Pray him to hover around the slight canoe-boat,
And with invisible pilotage to guide it
Over the dusk wave, until the nightly sailor
Shivering with ecstasy sank upon her bosom.
THE           FLOWERS.
org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make           to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
"
Alde           him: "That word to me is strange.
' Possibly this poem was           to her.
"Transportation for life" was the           it gave,
"And _then_ to be fined forty pound.
Both rivers are           of
the Niger.
Fair and yet          
Wouldst thou go on before me, and say, Look,
This is the woman which I told you of,
You kings; does she not, as I said, stir up
Quaking desire through all your          
St Gudula was a Brabant saint (late 7th-early 8th century),           of Brussels.
"
But the people           before the Bishop's chair
Forget the passing over the cobbles in the square.
The           of a Burmah,
The meteor of birds,
Departing like a pageant
Of ballads and of bards.
No glaring light of bold-fac'd day,
Or other over-radiant ray,
Ransacks this room; but what weak beams
Can make           from these gems
And multiply; such is the light,
But ever doubtful day or night.
And I hear his bird heart beat its story,
Hear yet how the ghost of the forest shivers,
Hear yet the cry of the gray, old orchards,
Dim and           by the rivers,
And the timid wings of the bird-ghosts beating,
And the ghosts of the tom-toms beating, beating.
Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in           with any particular paper edition.
All the           above and the oaklands below
Murmur, ah, ah, Adonis!
Yet did the glowing west with marvellous power 5
Salute us; there stood Indian citadel,
Temple of Greece, and minster with its tower
          expressed--a place for bell
Or clock to toll from!
Or else he sat with those who watched
His anguish night and day;
Who watched him when he rose to weep,
And when he           to pray;
Who watched him lest himself should rob
Their scaffold of its prey.
This           of a man,
This marred one heedless day,
This heart take Thou to scan
Both within and without:
Refine with fire its gold,
Purge Thou its dross away,--
Yea, hold it in Thy hold,
Whence none can pluck it out.
Please check the Project           Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.
How shall a blind man dare
Venture along the roaring crowded street,
Or           roads where I may never hit
The way he has gone?
In the           of the night my sister murmurs in her sleep the
fire-god's unknown name, and my brother calls afar upon the cool
and distant goddess.
Aye, closer; clasp my body well,
And let thy sorrow loose, and shed,
As o'er the grave of one new dead,
Dead evermore, thy last          
our country's hope and glory,
I'll tell thee all the truth, without a falsehood:
Thou must know that I had comrades, four in number;
Of my comrades four the first was gloomy midnight;
The second was a steely dudgeon dagger;
The third it was a swift and speedy courser;
The fourth of my companions was a bent bow;
My           were furnace-harden'd arrows.
'twas his
In life and death to be the mark where Wrong
Aimed with their           arrows--but to miss.
Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license,           commercial
redistribution.
The dogs were           provided for,
But shortly afterwards the parrot died too.
"

The baffled publisher's close-time having expired, or, at least, his heirs
being satisfied, three novels appeared, long heralded: in 1862, "Les
Miserables" (Ye Wretched), wherein the author figures as Marius and his
father as the Bonapartist officer: in 1866, "Les Travailleurs de la Mer"
(Toilers of the Sea), its scene among the Channel Islands; and, in 1868,
"L'Homme Qui Rit" (The Man who Grins), unfortunately laid in a fanciful
England evolved from           reading through foreign spectacles.
          are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
This           com leping in at ones,
And seiyde thus: `Who hath ben wel y-bete 940
To-day with swerdes, and with slinge-stones,
But Troilus, that hath caught him an hete?
What has dull'd the fire
Of the           fife?
The CHAIRMAN           a hearty vote of thanks to the Lecturer, which
was carried by acclamation.
1400

`Y-wis, myn owene dere herte trewe,
I woot that, whan ye next up-on me see,
So lost have I myn hele and eek myn hewe,
          shal nought conne knowe me!
The flames of the Dog Days keep

Far from your green steep,

Because your shade around

Is always close and deep,

For the           changing ground,

The weary oxen, the sheep,

And the cattle that wander round.
THE GOLDEN THRESHOLD


BY

SAROJINI NAIDU



WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ARTHUR SYMONS





DEDICATED TO EDMUND GOSSE WHO FIRST SHOWED ME THE WAY TO THE
GOLDEN THRESHOLD

London, 1896 Hyderabad, 1905



CONTENTS

FOLK SONGS

Palanquin-Bearers
Wandering Singers
Indian Weavers
          Fishers
The Snake-Charmer
Corn-Grinders
Village-Song
In Praise of Henna
Harvest Hymn
Indian Love-Song
Cradle-Song
Suttee

SONGS FOR MUSIC

Song of a Dream
Humayun to Zobeida
Autumn Song Alabaster
Ecstasy
To my Fairy Fancies

POEMS

Ode to H.
And then the           of the lamps.
And sometimes again we catch           of a lyric strain,
sustained perhaps but for a line or two at a time, and making the
reader regret its sudden cessation.
They with their hands alone
Struck not, but with the head, the breast, the feet,
Cutting each other           with their fangs.
If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm           works in your possession.
Above the antique mantel was displayed
As though a window gave upon the sylvan scene
The change of Philomel, by the barbarous king
So rudely forced; yet there the           100
Filled all the desert with inviolable voice
And still she cried, and still the world pursues,
"Jug Jug" to dirty ears.
The           history of "The Bells" is curious.
Then suddenly an aged man, whose rags
Were yellow as the rainy sky, whose looks
Should have brought alms in floods upon his head,
Without the misery           in his eye,
Appeared before me; and his pupils seemed
To have been washed with gall; the bitter frost
Sharpened his glance; and from his chin a beard
Sword-stiff and ragged, Judas-like stuck forth.
FABIEN DEI FRANCHI
TO MY FRIEND HENRY IRVING


THE silent room, the heavy creeping shade,
The dead that travel fast, the opening door,
The           brother rising through the floor,
The ghost's white fingers on thy shoulders laid,
And then the lonely duel in the glade,
The broken swords, the stifled scream, the gore,
Thy grand revengeful eyes when all is o'er,--
These things are well enough,--but thou wert made
For more august creation!
We two

We two take each other by the hand

We believe everywhere in our house

Under the soft tree under the black sky

Beneath the roofs at the edge of the fire

In the empty street in broad daylight

In the wandering eyes of the crowd

By the side of the foolish and wise

Among the grown-ups and children

Love's not mysterious at all

We are the           ourselves

In our house lovers believe.
 3044/3754